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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458664">Dream Magic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU'>CookieCatSU</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Adventure Zone (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angus has Dream Magic, Another John Lives AU, Gen, He washes up on the beach and Merle's just like, It just fits guys, John Dad instead of John Hunger, Kravitz and Taako are Angus McDonald's Parents, They're in there for a quick second, cause why not, eh why not, he shares dreams with other people</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:02:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently Merle doesn't know The Hunger is evil. He should because he had to fight him, but he doesn't? The Hunger also knows how to make hot chocolate?</p><p>Or; Angus is very confused. And maybe has bad dreams.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Angus McDonald &amp; Everyone, Merle Highchurch &amp; The Hunger | John</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dream Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"All set, little dude?" Taako ruffles Angus' hair, pulling his hat down over the curly swathe to cover his face. Angus protests, laughing, and Kravitz can be heard, chuckling, off to their left.</p><p>"Yeah"</p><p>"Good. Good. Now have fun, be good, don't get lost, etc, etc"</p><p>And then they're off, and Angus is left to wander to the house on the beach, alone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"C'mon. You're not excited to hang with your Uncle Merle?"</p><p>The dwarf reaches down, ruffling the boy's hair. The entire exchange is joking, teasing, just barely edged with concern. Angus laughs, rolling his eyes, pushing his giant hand away. Sand squelching under his feet. Sun shining down on his shoulders.</p><p>Such a familiar scene, the smell of salt, and the sound of crashing waves. His home away from home.</p><p>Angus smiles, showing off a chipped tooth.</p><p>"Of course I am sir"</p><p>"Oh good. I was worried kid"</p><p>The house is as cluttered as he remembered. It's a terrarium of sorts, with green, flowering plants hanging from the ceiling, sitting at the windows, seeming to sit and crowd around every surface. Tacky little souvenirs snatched up from Merle's travels sit tacked to the wall, and are thrown across the mantle.</p><p>Angus's journal still sits in the box near to the fireplace, exactly where he left it, a little dusty but entirely intact. He promptly flips it open, to where he's documented all his findings about the surrounding beaches. Sketches of sea shells and creatures and town maps. Whatever bits and pieces and scraps he could find and document.</p><p>He stuffs it into his coat pocket, happy with the new weight at his side.</p><p>Everything is the same as his last visit.</p><p>"I see you're already gettin' settled" Merle says, as he walks into the living room. </p><p>Angus nods, "Yes sir. It's not very difficult, since nothing's really changed"</p><p>It's one of the few things he can count on, actually. While the whole universe was always in flux, this house, this stretch of beach, remained stagnant. Predictable.</p><p>"Yeah, about that" Merle smiles sheepishly.</p><p>Angus's stomach boils.</p><p>"I got someone I want ya to meet. Now, try to keep an open mind, okay?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Merle leads Angus into the kitchen, hand steadying, gentle, against his shoulder. Squeezing faintly, as if trying to prepare him for something. Trying to tether him.</p><p>The Hunger is standing in front of their stove, frozen, staring at them. A little smile curls across his face then, surprised, <em>grasping</em>, both charming and intimidating.</p><p>Voice measured, silk. All encompassing, this moving force that ducks and weaves and drills into his skull.</p><p>"Merle, hello. I see you've brought a guest" He drops the towel, wiping his hands against slick gray slacks. Slow and careful and nonchalant. As if he belongs here, "Do I get an introduction?"</p><p>Angus is horrified. He later reflects that maybe he shouldn't be. There's nothing particularly scary about the man: he's so mundanely average, so normal, that it strikes the child as odd. He is rather tall, but as opposed to being intimidating, he's almost funny looking. He stands bent at the waist, lanky, towering, like an awkward swan trying to fit in a shoebox.</p><p>He could have been an accountant, or a stock broker, or that distant uncle you saw once a year. But he wasn't.</p><p>He's way too normal. It's disturbing, a stark contrast against what Angus knows, what the whole world knows, he used to be. This man could be anyone, the Hunger could be anyone, and that's horrifying.</p><p>His shadow stretches over Angus, warped, disfiguring. Angus can see the streaks of color, mutilated hunger, grasping shapes clawing outward; except, it's just a shadow, and he knows that.</p><p>It shouldn't be so scary. But Angus scrambles away anyway, from the graying old man trying to hunker in on himself, trying to become infinitesimally smaller, seem less scary, less imposing.</p><p>John grimaces. He seems to expect it. He kneels down even further, looks away as if ashamed. Reaches, but then not, unable to make up his mind.</p><p>"I'm sorry" He mutters finally, and no one really knows what he's apologizing for. Only that he's repentant.</p><p>Angus sees it. Regret, shining in black opal, shimmering eyes. Overshadowing the hate, the anger.</p><p>He hazards a small step closer.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sun is setting. The chirp of cicadas gathering under the darkening blanket of evening suffuses the garden. Angus breathes in the smell of dewy moisture, gazing at the sky, and considers pulling out his journal to capture the moment.</p><p>Now's not the time, though, so he doesn't. Instead he turns toward the dwarf working in the dirt just a few feet away, and asks the question that's been burning on his lips since he arrived earlier that afternoon.</p><p>"Why are you letting him stay here?" Angus asks.</p><p>Surprise flits across Merle's face, perhaps at how direct the question is, but dissipates almost immediately. He laughs awkwardly, and jams his spade in the dirt.</p><p>"He doesn't really have anywhere else to go. And I'd feel bad if I just left him out to dry, after everything that's happened"</p><p>Angus' brow furrows, and he purses his lips. "This is the <em>Hunger</em> you're talking about, sir"</p><p>"I know, but he's <em>trying</em>" Merle sighs, scrubbing a large palm across his face, through his tangled white beard. A couple dislodged flowers float to the ground, spiraling. "Everyone deserves a second chance, right?"</p><p>Angus wasn't so sure about that.</p><p>Angus repositions little Mookie against his hip. He keeps shifting, quite antsy, grasping upward with fascinated, enraptured coos to pull at the feather hanging from Angus' cap. Angus blows the feather away out of reach.</p><p>"Not everyone" Angus says, finally, still gazing at the cooing little dwarf, who smiles up at him, "But... I guess it's impossible to really judge who deserves those chances, and who doesn't"</p><p>Merle breathes a tiny sigh of relief. "He'll surprise you. In a good way"</p><p>Angus doubted that, but he doesn't say so.</p><p>If he was lucky, he'd be proved wrong.</p><p>He doubts that'll happen, too, of course.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Hey kiddo" John sits gingerly beside him, wincing at the way his joints crackle and pop, "I see you can't sleep. Unless you're just wandering the halls for fun"</p><p>"It's normal. I'm used to it" Angus replies, sniffling, wiping at half dried tear stains. He'd had his fair share of nightmares, vivid and choking. First it'd been bright white light, shattering chimes and string less puppets. Now he saw oozing black ichor, flowing through the cracks in the ceiling, the walls, bubbling up, acidic and burning, coating his hands and pulling him down into the floorboards to drown him.</p><p>That dream wasn't his. Not truly.</p><p>Regardless, the statement is a true one. Angus is no liar. He did have bad dreams a lot.</p><p>Understanding dawns on the old man's face. The way his eyes widen, in surprised realization, is almost funny. A lot about John toed that fine line. Between funny and scary.</p><p>"Do you have nightmares frequently?" He asks, expression almost pained.</p><p>Angus nods. He's staring at his hands now, trying not to look at John.</p><p>"All the time. It's gotten worse, since the… the Hunger"</p><p>And there it is. The forbidden word. Merle never said it, unless to spring a lighthearted joke, often in poor taste. Even then, though, he never stated it plainly. It was such a tender topic, such a fresh, throbbing wound. Angus followed Merle's example, and he too avoided talking about the Hunger under the beach house's thatched roof.</p><p>John was always around, after all.</p><p>"It'd be insensitive, you know?" Merle had said once. Angus didn't really know, but he nodded anyway, "I mean, he's so eaten up about it, and I just got him to start sleepin' again. No point in digging it back up if we ain't gotta"</p><p>That made sense. Plus, Angus hated talking about it anyway.</p><p>A gangly hand lands atop Angus's shoulder. He nearly jumps off the top step. Stops himself. Then he looks back up, to see John, looking stormy and angry, staring just above him. In the darkness of the hallway, Angus can see tendrils coming off of him, inky, shimmering. Grasping.</p><p>"That's my fault. I'm sorry" the sound aches, just as the walls do, bulging under the weight of his otherness.</p><p>It takes Angus a moment to remember what he's referring to. The Hunger. The nightmares. Of drowning and bubbling black sludge and infinite horizons filled with eyes, red, yellow, blue, blinking. His lungs filling with the iridescent opal gunk, dripping from his eyes. Splashing against his hands. Scarred and cracked and aching.</p><p>Not his dreams. Not his experience. Yet, it plays before his eyes every night, anyway.</p><p>He never saw the Hunger, up close. He only saw the destruction left behind, the dead bodies and the solid, iridescent tendrils, constantly shifting and changing and grasping, ripping through mountains and buildings and anything else in it's path.</p><p>Always consuming, destroying, but never satisfied.</p><p>It's his own personal nightmare, the glazed eyes of those taken, the one he sees once all the rest have receded.</p><p>Angus gulps, "It's okay"</p><p>It's not, but it feels better to say it.</p><p>There's a hum off to his side. Noncommittal.</p><p>Angus yelps then, as he's lifted up suddenly by his armpits. In a few moments, he's sitting atop John's shoulders, and the man is walking toward the kitchen. Walking with a purpose.</p><p>"Where are we going?"</p><p>It's a little staggering, suddenly being almost 7 feet tall. Staggering in a good way, though. He giggles, unable to stop the noise, hands wrapped around John's neck.</p><p>John laughs himself. His shoulders rumble with the sound.</p><p>"When I was little, my dad would make hot cocoa whenever I couldn't sleep" he says, as explanation, "He was a night owl, so he was almost always up"</p><p>"That sounds nice" Angus replies.</p><p>"It was" He becomes silent, contemplative. There's regret, in the way his shoulders hitch. "It really was"</p><p>They're in the kitchen now. John moves about the kitchen, setting the water to boil, adding the cocoa powder and milk. One hand remains on Angus's ankle, making certain he stays steady.</p><p>It's a surprisingly comfortable perch. Angus watches him prepare the cocoa, watches as the steam rises from the kettle. He isn't sure how long it takes, but soon his eyelids are fluttering closed, and he's resting his head atop John's.</p><p>"All done" He pauses, as he picks up the ceramic coffee mug, placing it on the counter, "Do you want to get down now?"</p><p>Angus just grumbles, half asleep. His cheek is pressed against John's hair, arm draped across his shoulder. He's tired. He yawns, wide and gaping. Really tired, actually.</p><p>"Nope"</p><p>"You can't stay up there, sorry," John gently extracts the boy, placing him down on the stool.</p><p>"It's good, yes?"</p><p>"Uh-huh" He wraps both hands around the mug, trying to suck up all the heat. Takes another sip,</p><p>"Chocolatey"</p><p>John nods. He looks around the room, awkward. Nervous. "Well uh, if you need me…"</p><p>The usual apprehension, fear, Angus feels around the man, has diminished somewhat, swamped by the rich scent of cocoa. He isn't made of shadow, suddenly. He's of flesh and bone. Awkward, smiling, edged with insecurity.</p><p>He's suddenly very human. The contrast is puzzling.</p><p>"Stay. Please?" Angus's voice is tiny. The last thing he wants is to be alone.</p><p>The Hunger, the killer of universes, smiles.</p><p>"Yeah. Okay"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I'm not sure what to think" Angus admits to Mavis.</p><p>They're huddled in the guest bedroom (Angus' bedroom, until he left at the end of the week), spread across the floor, laid out on their bellies.</p><p>Mavis hums, chin leant up in her hand.</p><p>"I don't like him" She says, and there's no love lost, no lack of bitterness, "He hurt a lot of people. That makes him <em>bad</em>"</p><p>Angus doesn't disagree.</p><p>"He <em>scares</em> me. He's got this aura" Like black, slimy gunk. Black, slimy, ravenous gunk.</p><p>But he's being rather nice, for someone who'd cleaved the galaxy apart, and Angus can glimpse something else there. Human, almost, but that can't be right, because the Hunger can't be human. Truly human, like him or Mavis or Taako.</p><p>Right?</p><p>"He won't hurt us" She says quietly, vehemently, and she sounds so certain, "Dad wouldn't let him stay here if he was"</p><p>That makes Angus feel the tiniest bit better.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>John still made Angus nervous, (if not the man himself, then what he represented), so when he sits down beside Angus on the dingy floral print couch, the boy jumps a little. He relaxes a moment later, though, when it becomes clear John had no ill intentions.</p><p>He sits with knobby knees pointed outwards, squeaky clean dress shoes at a perfect 45 degree angle, gaze glued on the ceiling. Angus pulls his cap a little further over his eyes, clutching onto his tattered journal.</p><p>"Explain it to me?" It's a tentative offer, soft and faint, trying so hard not to be too forceful. Too pushy.</p><p><em>Compelling</em>. Overpowering.</p><p>He looks at Angus then, and his expression is <em>concerned</em>, without a doubt.</p><p>Angus can't fathom why.</p><p>"Well uh… hmmm. Think of a radio receiver. It picks up signals put off by transmitters, and plays whatever music they're playing" He pauses. His dream walking had always been hard to quantify, hard to explain. Nobody really understood it, "I'm kind of like the reciever, I guess. I tune in to whatever's near, and I see what they see. The only difference is that I don't have a dial to change stations"</p><p>John's eyes widen.</p><p>"And this is caused by magic?"</p><p>"Yes, sir. Dream magic, sort of"</p><p>Angus does not mention that it's more of a curse than an ability. An affliction, as opposed to a strength.</p><p>No, Angus keeps that to himself. It wasn't important, anyway, and it was unrelated to the question.</p><p>"Dream magic? That... wasn't a thing back on my plane… so, if you're the receiver, everyone else is a transmitter?"</p><p>"Yes. And dreams are signals"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dreamless. That night is dreamless. Sleep is peaceful, quiet, in a way his sleep usually isn't. Near the tail end, there are a few plants, budding flowers at the edge of his vision, but not enough to constitute a true dream. It's too ambivalent, as impartial as it is, to be classified as dream nor nightmare.</p><p>Which made sense, since it was clearly Merle's, and he was nearly two hallways down. The connection was… shaky, at best.</p><p>It's very odd indeed, but Angus doesn't think too hard on it. He's sleeping, and it's very good sleep.</p><p>So good, in fact, that he must apparently be woken up in the middle of it with a rumbling stomach.</p><p>He wipes at his eyes, struggles to reach, and then smacks on his glasses, and rolls out of bed. He pads quietly down the stairs, yawning and stretching, intent to head to the kitchen. He'd grab a quick snack, and then head back to bed.</p><p>In hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised to see John, sitting at the kitchen counter. He still is, anyway.</p><p>He jumps. Adjusts his glasses, to be sure he's seeing right.</p><p>John is definitely sitting up at the counter, dressed full tie and everything. Shoulders hunched. Glass of water seated untouched beside him.</p><p>"John? What are you doing up?" Angus asks.</p><p>"Oh, Angus. Is it morning yet?" The man asks, and he sounds particularly exhausted. Like he had to pull a triple 12 hour shift.</p><p>"No. It's 2 am" Angus pads a little closer, "2:13 am to be exact"</p><p>The man nods. His eyes are red rimmed, dull.</p><p>That's when it occurs to Angus, why his dreams had been so tame, so peaceful, tonight.</p><p>"Did you sleep at all?"</p><p>John shakes his head.</p><p>"No. Not a lick. After you uh told me about…" He sighs, "I've been having that nightmare for weeks. Apparently you have too. I don't want you to have to endure that. So, I thought I'd just stay awake"</p><p>Angus scowls at that.</p><p>"It's fine" He stresses, because it's important that he, that everyone, got that, "I'm <em>used</em> to it"</p><p>Angus McDonald was a big boy, darn it.</p><p>"That's exactly the problem. You shouldn't be. You shouldn't <em>need</em> to be. It's not <em>fair</em>, and I'm sorry"</p><p>"Nothing's fair, sir" Angus says quietly. He picks at the thread of his pajama shirt. It was his favorite one, the one with the magnifying glasses and question marks.</p><p>John's answering smile is sharp, almost ironic, "How old are you? You shouldn't know that either"</p><p>"My eleventh birthday is in 2 months. And I'm smart. Observant too. They don't call me the world's greatest child detective for nothing"</p><p>John laughs. Then he sends one sweeping look around the kitchen. It was still dark past the windows, the little port shaped windows with the pea green drapes. Hideous drapes.</p><p>"Shouldn't you be heading back to bed?"</p><p>Angus plops back down in the chair beside John, sticky grape popsicle already in hand. He takes a mighty bite, ignoring the momentary brain freeze.</p><p>"No. I'm staying up with you" He answers, teeth clattering.</p><p>John promptly opens his mouth to protest.</p><p>"I'm not going back to bed as long as you're still awake" Angus adds, determined.</p><p>John again, looks ready to argue. Then he decides against it. The fire in the kid's eye says it all.</p><p>"Fine. But just this once" He turns back to his untouched water glass, swirling the contents.</p><p>Angus continues to eat his popsicle.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next night, Angus doesn't wake to find John sitting in the kitchen.</p><p>When he passes by his room door, he hears snoring.</p><p>His dreams are still relatively pleasant. When he crawls back into bed and closes his eyes, he sees sunsets, lapping waves, and hears bubbling laughter. Flecks of hunger maybe, but they could just as easily have been birds, palm trees, aircraft.</p><p><em>Anything</em>.</p><p><em>Anyone</em>, really.</p><p> </p>
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